Vengeance (Sequel to We're Looking For A Man Called the Doctor)
by WhouffleGurl.02
Summary: The sequel to my previous SuperWhoLock fic, "We're Looking for a Man called the Doctor". Clara and Sam have forgotten everything that has happened, and the others have all forgotten a bit. The Angels have the phonebox, Cas is keeping a secret, and the fate of everyone's life is in the hands of a weeping angel who has a vendetta against Castiel. (Destiel and Whouffle involved)
1. dreams and angels

**So, this is the sequel to We're Looking For a Man Called the Doctor.**

**It's going to have at least five chapters. I haven't finished writing it though, so I'll let you know the definite amount of chapters later.**

**ENJOY :)**

**yes, there will be Destiel in this fic.**

**WG2**

* * *

Clara groaned, the pillow muffling her voice. The TARDIS had been tormenting her with strange dreams all night, such vivid ones that kept her from actually getting any rest, despite the fact that she was sleeping while dreaming. Whenever she woke up, she was completely exhausted.

* * *

_"Hello, Miss Oswald." The taller man spoke, using an american accent. She raised her left eyebrow slightly and looked at the FBI badges the men held out before glancing back up at the men._

_"Hello?" she replied, unsure why she did so. Why were the FBI in England at her door._

_Oh._

_There was only one explanation, and her suspicions were confirmed as the taller one spoke._

_"We're looking for a man called the Doctor."_

* * *

Pulling the covers over her head, she tried to empty her mind of the dreams. They were so vivid, so _detailed_ that they were almost like memories. Of course, the TARDIS was behind this whole thing, so it wasn't a matter of disturbing memories, no, it was a matter of an annoying time machine who had a grudge against her.

Knocking sounded on her door and she clenched her fist, wanting to get up and punch the TimeLord's face. Why couldn't he just talk to the TARDIS about not being so cruel to her? It was getting annoying.

"Go away!" she shouted, "I haven't been sleeping because your stupid_ snogbox_ won't let me sleep!"

* * *

_"What just happened?" she asked. "I was in bed, reading an Amelia Williams' book, and then I'm here with everybody."_

_"The energy from you reading her book must have dragged you along." a man in a trench coat replied._

_"What?" she asked._

_"You have a certain aura around you, you were reading Amelia Williams' book, and so you were dragged along when I brought everyone here to 1938." he explained._

* * *

Clara sighed and hopped out of bed, wincing when her bare feet hit the icy-cold floor. The dreams weren't going to leave her alone, so she might as well go find the sulking Doctor and expain that she hadn't meant to be so rude, that she was just overtired from not getting the rest she needed.

However, when she opened the door, the Doctor was standing there with a dopey grin on his face, and she had to stop herself from giggling as he reached forward and pulled her into a big hug. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into the curve of his shoulder.

They let go, and the Doctor grinned down at her and bopped her nose.

"Good morning, Clara Wara!" he exclaimed. Clara hid her smile.

"You call me that ever again, and I'll burn your bowtie collection, yeah?" she replied. The Doctor looked scared, so she kissed his cheek, giggling at his stupidity. For a man who was over a thousand years, he certainly wasn't that age in his mind.

"What has gotten into you, chinboy?" she laughed when he started to bounce up and down. His smile widened into a toothy grin and she felt a sudden urge to just _kiss_ him. Kiss him like her life depended on it. She could feel her lips and heart dragging her toward him, and her mind and common sense away from him. It was a normal everyday struggle for her, one she felt whenever she was near him.

"It's a beautiful day out in space, Clara! It's your birthday back on earth, too! November 23rd."

"What year are we in?" Clara asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

"2014."

"You skipped a year to celebrate my birthday, even though we just celebrated it two weeks ago? In 2013?"

"Of course!" the Doctor replied, his face breaking out in joy, "Saving Gallifrey wasn't what I had planned for your birthday, so I'm giving you a proper holiday."

Clara giggled. "You do know that the birthday I had two weeks ago was the best one I'd ever had? The brilliance that you three versions displayed. It was amazing. I missed seeing the tenth of you, anyway."

"Oy." the Doctor snapped, but Clara could see the amusement in his eyes. She leaned up and hugged him again, kissing his cheek softly. She felt his skin start to flush, and she giggled.

* * *

Dean looked up from his book and looked over at Sam, who was typing into his laptop furiously. Sam didn't remember a thing about last week, and some instances in the past couple of months. Anything related to the Doctor or Clara was completely wiped from his memory, and Dean wondered if he himself was forgetting some things.

He'd asked Cas about it, but the angel couldn't explain it, and he had confirmed Dean's suspicions, that Dean had forgotten some things as well.

So Dean had mentioned a couple of things about the detectives and the Ponds, and the weeping angels, and Sam had just looked at him like he was going off the deep end.

Dean had called Sherlock to see if the detective had forgotten anything. Sherlock said that his and John's memories were fine, but suggested he call the Doctor.

After punching in the numbers into his phone, Dean had called the time machine. Clara had answered, her voice familiar.

"You've reached the TARDIS, Clara Oswald speaking."

"Clara? It's Dean." he gave his name and hoped she remembered him.

"Who?"

His heart had sunk.

"Give the phone to the Doctor, please." he'd requested. He had heard soft voices in the background on the other side of the phone, Clara telling the Doctor that it was_ some guy called Dean._

"Dean? Is that you?" the Doctors voice crackled into Dean's ear, and he had sighed in relief.

"Oh thank the stars it's you, Doctor. Sam can't remember anything, I can remember most of it but not all of it. Cas can't even remember everything. Sherlock and John are fine as far as I know."

"Clara, I think I left my screwdriver in the kitchen." the Doctor was talking to Clara, and Dean waited. "No, when we were attempting to make soufflés. No, she will not send flour dropping over you like last time. Yes, I promise."

Dean waited a few more seconds.

"Dean, Clara can't remember everything. The TARDIS remembers everything, and told me that I've forgotten a few things too."

"So what happened?" Dean asked, hoping the alien would have some answers, because a friggin'_ angel of the lord_ didn't have them.

"I don't know. It might be timelines overlapping that shouldn't have, so the memories slipped away. If that's the case, we'd better stay away from each other until we know more." the Doctor replied, his voice shaky. Dean closed his eyes and nodded before realizing the alien couldn't see him.

"Will do. Goodbye, Doctor."

"Goodbye, Dean."

Dean was broken out of his thoughts when Sam snapped his fingers, making him jump. He glared at Sam.

"The bones are in Battenfield Cemetary. I'll grab the bag, you start the impala."

"No, I'll take care of the bones."

"What?" Sam asked, giving Dean an incredulous look. Dean shrugged.

"Got a lot on my mind, Sammy. I need some time to think without my snot-nosed little brother around. Nothing like digging into a grave and burning bones to help the thinking process, either."

Sam hesitated, but let out a long sigh before closing his laptop and folding his arms.

"Fine."

Dean was out of the bunker and on the road within five minutes.

* * *

There was a very different feeling entering his body than what Sherlock Holmes was ever used to. He smiled down at the tiny newborn in his arms, some instinct making his body rock her back and forth slowly, and she looked up at him with large brown eyes. His heart swelled as she yawned, and he heard Mary coo from where she was laying in the hospital bed. The baby Sherlock was holding was Mary and John's, Mary having just given birth to the baby.

The baby was falling asleep, and Sherlock didn't know what to do, so he glanced up at her parents anxiously. Mary looked worn but overjoyed, and John looked amused.

His phone rang.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and gently handed the baby over to Mary, who soon settled the baby into her arms and cooed softly. John gave Sherlock a_ seriously?_ look, and Sherlock could only shrug as he answered his cell and left the hospital room, going down the corridor to the corner. He turned to the left and brought the phone to his ear.

"Sherlock?" a familiar grating voice on the other end made the detective's eyebrows furrow in confusion. He heard the door to Mary's room open behind him, and John's footsteps sounding behind.

"It's Dean. We have a problem."

"What is it, Dean? I'm busy." he snapped, glancing around to look at John, who was waiting by the door with a we're waiting look on his face.

"Remember the angels?"

Sherlock heard John walk up and saw the former army doctor at his side, giving him a glare.

"Is something with Castiel?" Sherlock asked, keeping his eyes away from John's. No doubt John Watson was giving him an incredulous look.

"Cas is fine. I mean the weeping ones."

Sherlock stiffened and stared ahead, his head subconsciously moving up a bit. He saw John lose his glare in the corner of his eye, and instead look interested at Sherlock's sudden dark demeanor.

"Yeah, well…I'm looking at three of them now. I'd call Sam, but he can't remember anything, so he's sort of _unhelpful_." Dean continued.

"Don't take your eyes off them, Dean. I'll get the Doctor." Sherlock replied quickly, giving his instructions.

"Just…hurry up." Dean said, and Sherlock realized the hunter's voice was shaky from cold, it was shaking from fear. He hung up and turned to John, who was looking concerned now.

"What's wrong with Dean?" he asked.

"He's surrounded by Weeping Angels," Sherlock explained. John's eyes went wide, and he shifted on his feet.

"Better call the Doctor."

Sherlock nodded, already pushing the buttons on his phone.

* * *

Wings sounded behind Dean, and he closed his eyes tightly, ignoring the burn as Cas winged him from the weeping angels to the outside of the bunker. He thanked Cas and almost got lost in the angel's eyes, but shook himself out of it.

"Sherlock's getting ahold of the Doctor."

* * *

**Kind of a short chapter, I know. The next chapters will be longer, I promise. :) Remember to comment and follow if you liked it!**

**3 WG2**


	2. finding the doctor

**Here's the second chapter! It's like seven or eight pages in the program I write in, so hopefully it's long enough here. :)**

**WG2**

* * *

After trying to contact the Doctor, and failing, Sherlock called Dean and was relieved when the hunter picked up. After finding out that Cas had saved Dean, his musing voice had turned on, and Dean had gotten thoughtful as well. However, everyone was still getting sick and tired of the weeping angel problem, so Cas winged Sherlock over to the bunker, scaring the crap out of Sam and making the tall moose-looking guy spill water everywhere.

_"Jeez_, Cas!" Sam snapped, trying to squeeze what water out of his shirt that he could, and looking up to see Sherlock. "Who is this guy?"

Dean walked over from where he'd been sitting and shook hands with Sherlock. They hadn't seen each other for two weeks.

"This is Sherlock Holmes, Sammy. We need him for a case."

"What case?" Sam asked, his voice disbelieving.

The TV behind Sherlock flickered and tuened on, static filling the bunker. Everyone turned and stared at it, it couldn't be a ghost. Ghosts couldn't get into the bunker, and Dean raised his eyebrows when the TV got its crap together and the Doctor popped up on screen.

"To explain, I'm using a trick I've done before when the weeping angels sent me back. I'm letting you know why I can't be contacted at this time. Don't worry, Clara and I'll be showing up soon enough. In a couple of hours, you'll find a notie that tells you where we are and Cas can wing us over. I'm going to tell you right now though, the angels have the phonebox."

The TV flickered out, and everyone stared in silence.

"We don't have any phonebox." Cas' voice was confused, and Dean rolled his eyes, turning and giving the angel a _really?_ look. Cas shrugged.

"He didn't mean you, Castiel." Sherlock waved his hand. He was already sat down in a chair, his elbows on the table and his hands in the position they always where whenever he was thinking-the fingers against his lips. "He's talking about the Weeping Angels."

Cas nodded grimly, and exchanged a glance with Dean.

"Weeping?" Sam asked, giving Cas a look. His eyes moved from Cas to Dean, then to Sherlock. Sherlock nodded.

"Yes! Very fast, very dangerous," Sherlock explained, "The moment they are seen by any living creature, they literally turn to stone."

Dean looked from the detective to his brother, who was looking completely overwhelmed.

"Great. How do we kill them?" Sam sighed.

"We don't have enough information to even know how they breed, the Doctor knows more than any of us. We have to wait." Sherlock answered, making Sam raise his eyebrows. Dean buried his face in his hands and waited for it.

"Okay, who even_ are_ you? What case? Who was that guy on the sceen? Who's Clara? What's he talking about, a _phonebox_?"

There it was.

Dean sighed and sat down in the chair across from his brother, thinking of how to explain it all correctly.

"Okay, so this is going to sound weird, but it's the truth," Dean began, and hesitated, thinking. Sam motioned with his hands to for him to continue.

"Go on."

"Okay," Dean thought for a second more, "This is Sherlock Holmes, the best detective in the universe. His friend John Watson, them and us, we've been on quite a few cases and hunts with then for the past two months."

Sam gave him a look that clearly showed that he though Dean was being an idiot. Again.

"The man on the screen is an alien called the Doctor. He's a TimeLord, and he's over a thousand years old. He's also got some sort of grudge against Cas and God. Clara Oswald is his companion, the girl he takes to show the stars. They were together, but forgot about that. Clara forgot everything like you, so she doesn't even remember the detectives or us."

Sam's face was slowly softening, and Dean's gut told him that his brother knew exactly what he was going to say next.

"You were sent back in time by the weeping angels." Dean continued, and broke off when Sam nodded.

"I've been having strange dreams about this, actually. Dreams so vivid they're almost like memories, but they probably are, considering what you're saying."

Dean furrowed his brows, wondering why Sam had been having dreams about everything that had happened, but his mind had told him that the memories weren't real.

* * *

A few hours passed and Dean walked past the bathroom on the way to the garage, where he kept a fridge full of special beer, the only kind that Sherlock would agree to drink.

Wait a second.

Dean furrowed his eyebrows and took a few steps backward, looking into the barhroom. He couldn't see anything, so he flipped the lights on and saw blood on the mirror, spelling out an address. He sighed.

The blood was running down the mirror slowly, some of it on the counter and on the floor.

Sam was going to have a fit about the mess, and Dean almost felt sorry for the TimeLord as he walked back to the room without Sherlock's beer to inform everyone that the address had been given.

* * *

The sound of leaves rustling woke the Doctor up, and he inhaled deeply. He moved his fingers slowly, digging them into the dirt and leaves underneath them, ignoring the ache in his fingers. He groaned, trying to sit up. He failed and collapsed back onto his chest, the air rushing out of his lungs. The wind whistled around him, moving through the trees. He mustered up the strength and sat up, looking around.

He saw a small heap of skin and fabric and hair on the ground fourteen feet away from him, looking frail and helpless.

_Clara._

The Doctor stood up immediately, collapsing. His legs hadn't gotten their strength back yet, but he soon stood up steadily, tripping over a branch and almost falling on the short walk over to his companion. The moon was shining down through the trees and was lighting up Clara's face. He skidded onto his knees beside her and brought her face to face his face, and made sure she was still breathing.

She was, thank the stars.

He brought her limp body into a hug, breathing in her scent.

Clara stirred within his arms, and he slowly lowered her onto the ground again, careful not to hurt her as her muscles slowly relaxed. Her eyes opened, and he smiled down at her, moving a chunk of her brown hair to the side, stroking her cheek as he did so. She smiled up at him before her eyes flickered away from his face, realizing that they weren't in the TARDIS.

"Where are we?" her voice was hoarse, and she tried to sit up. She groaned, bringing a hand to her clutch at her head. The Doctor held her other hand, trying to offer what comfort he could.

"I don't know. What's the last thing you can remember?" he asked,

"We were in the TARDIS kitchen, weren't we?" she moaned, wincing as a jolt of pain seemed to hit her. "Making soufflés?" her voice sounded so small, so alone that it made the Doctor's heart swell up and his fingers somehow found themselves tracing her jaw, wondering how she could be so beautiful. She sighed. Realizing what he was doing, he dropped his fingers and looked at her face. She seemed content, and was smiling at him, her lips upturned. He smiled down at her and stood up, helping her stand. She leaned onto him heavily, but he didn't mind.

"Doctor," she whispered. He looked at her, alarmed by the fear in her voice. She pointed off into the forest and he followed the direction to see stone statues standing there, hands covering their eyes.

Weeping Angels.

The Doctor felt Clara trembling beside him, and he heard the familiar sound of heavenly wings, grunts and groans following suit. He exchanged a glance with Clara.

"_SHERLOCK_!" that was Dean yelling, his voice ringing throughout the forest. A grunt answered the hunter's shout.

"Doctor!" Sherlock called, and the Doctor took a step forward anxiously.

"Dean! Sherlock!" He yelled out, hugging Clara closer to him. "What are you doing? You need to get away, now! The Weeping Angels are here!"

"We know that, Doc!" Dean shouted back. "Kind of why we're here to rescue you!"

Wings flapped.

"_CAS_!" Dean's shout was one of fury, and the Doctor winced. Cas was either going to pop them all out in a second, or he was going to have some explaining to do later. He almost felt sorry for the angel.

"Dean! Sherlock, where are you?" the Doctor called.

Dean and Sherlock were arguing again, and the Doctor lost his patience, his shouting making Clara wince beside him.

"WHERE ARE YOU?!"

"Keep yelling, Doc! We'll come to you!"

The Doctor heard Clara whimper and he looked at her. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she was staring straight ahead. He turned his head to find that the weeping angel was nearer to them.

"Be careful, there's weeping angels surrounding us!" the Doctor warned.

"NO CRAP, SHERLOCK!" Dean shouted back.

_"WHAT ARE YOU-"_

"It's an _EXPRESSION_, Sherlock!"

The Doctor want to close his eyes and repeatedly slam his head on the trees nearby, but unfortunately that would mean not staring at the angel in front of them. And not staring at the angel in front of them meant they'd be sent back in time, and he might lose Clara.

Wings sounded behind the Doctor and Clara, and before either of them could react, the angel had already zapped them to the bunker and was gone again.

The Doctor groaned and stretched, Clara doing so as well. He caught sight of Sam sitting there, staring at them with wide eyes. Wings flapped behind again, and he turned to see Dean and Sherlock walking away from the angel and towards the alien.

"Jeez, where'd you go, Cas?" Dean asked, holding his side.

"I informed John of the situation and he'll be here in two days' time with Mary and the baby. Then I returned and rescued you all." Cas explained, and the Doctor winced as Sherlock took a step towards the angel threateningly.

"You did_ what_?" Sherlock snapped, giving Cas a cold glare.

The Doctor sighed and turned away from the two of them, and brought Clara into a tight hug. She seemed overwhelmed and clutched him to her, bringing her lips up to his ear.

"I know everyone here," she whispered, "They're from my dreams."

"I had those dreams too." Sam spoke, and the Doctor and Clara broke their hug. Clara looked at Sam for a minute.

"Yeah?" she asked, cocking a brow.

"Yeah." Sam replied, nodding.

"I remember you," she snickered, pointing at him. Sam nodded, his eyes twinkling.

"You told me what to do about the ST in here, remember?" Sam asked. Clara laughed and high-fived him, the Doctor standing there uncertaintly.

"Doctor, do you have any books or anything on your machine that can tell us anything about the Weeping Angels?" Dean asked, bringing the Doctor back to reality. The Doctor turned and thought for a moment, fingers picking at the skin on his lips.

"I do have I large library in there, maybe there's something there." he mused, and Clara snickered.

"It's freaking huge, Doctor." she said, and Dean almost smiled at the use of the word_ freaking_. It didn't seem very british to do, but maybe Sam had rubbed off on her last time.

"It's not _that_ big," the Doctor replied back, his eyes wide.

"It's bigger than the school I teach at." Clara stepped towards the alien and poked him as she spoke, "It's bigger than the earth. It's bigger than the universe. It's bigger than-"

"Okay. I _know_ it's not that big." the Doctor interrupted, giving Clara a glare. She broke off giggling.

* * *

Dean stared up and around the library as they walked inside the room.

The Doctor shrugged.

"Okay, so maybe it _is _that big."

Clara and Sam exchanged an exasperated glance before heading off together to the left. Dean went to the bookshelves on the right. The Doctor went upstairs one flight, Sherlock went up two, and Cas went up three.

Dean walked through shelves, keeping an eye on book titles. Of course, in order to _do_ that quickly, his head was tilted to the side and he could feel a neck crick coming on that would absolutely kill him later.

Which Cas could probably heal, so Dean kept his head tilted.

* * *

Sam ran his fingers over the old leather books as he walked down the space between bookshelves slowly, looking at the book titles carefully. Clara was behind him, looking at the books on the opposite side of the isle. The shelves were high, and so was he, but Clara was over a foot shorter than him, so she checked the books from the fifth shelf down and he checked from the sixth on up.

"What do you remember?" Clara's soft question broke throught the silence, and Sam closed his eyes, running through the dreams in his mind as quickly as he could.

"I remember…coming to your door and Sherlock not believing in Cas. I remember that Cas almost killed the Doctor, but they have an uneasy sort of agreement now because he saved you, and that you and me had a couple of talks about Dean and Cas."

"We need a code name for that," Clara decided. Sam raised his eyebrows and turned to give the short brunette a look.

"What?"

"So we can talk about it while they're in the room. Cas is an angel, so I assume he'll still be able to hear us if we just whisper."

"Yeah, so?"

"Cean?"

"Absolutely not," Sam shuddered at the word, then thought. His fingers tapped his chin lightly. "Trench-trunk?" he offered.

"'Cause of the trench coat and the impala?" Clara asked.

"Yeah."

"Too obvious. How about….Destiel?"

"Destiel?" Sam echoed.

"Dean and Castiel. Destiel." Clara explained, nodding her head and grinning. Sam nodded. He liked it.

"I've found something!" Dean's shout interrupted the overall silence of the library and startled both Sam and Clara. They exchanged a glance before running over to where Dean's voice had come from. They found the hunter standing there, along with Cas, who was looking over Dean's shoulder at the book Dean was flipping through.

"How to kill a Weeping Angel," Dean read, the pages open to within the last half of the book.

"Great! How do we do it?" Clara asked, excitement obvious on her facial features. Sam grinned at her childishness.

"It says we need water from the wooden cross, and a bunch of other religious crap," Dean read out, then dug his finger into the page, frowning frustratedly.

"Water from the wooden cross?" Sam echoed.

"I believe soaking an old wooden cross from a church would do." Cas offered, and Sam and Clara exchanged a knowing glance when Dean stared at Cas like the angel was the single most knowledgable and amazing being in the whole of the universe.

* * *

**the next chapter might take a couple of days, this chapter alone took half of what I've written. I have to write a lot more before I can update regularly, so hang in there. :) remember to follow and review if you like it enough for it to continue!**


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